


Cake

by Eon-Flamewing (eonflamewing)



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cake, F/M, It's a happy fic for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eonflamewing/pseuds/Eon-Flamewing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a girl who comes every school day without fail and orders the exact same things. But she never finishes the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake

**Author's Note:**

> polyphenols said I should write a happy thing. This is said happy thing.

There is a girl who comes down to the cafe a lot.  
  
She arrives every school day without fail at four p.m., a pastel blue cardigan buttoned neatly over her blouse and navy blue skirt. Sometimes she swaps the knit sweater for a jacket trimmed with ruffles or an overcoat reaching past her waist, but the clothes she wears under them always stays the same. It takes him a week or so to find out what school the uniform's from - an expensive private institution for girls, quite a few streets uptown in one of the richer districts.  
  
He doesn't know why she's here, always frequenting the cafe his father owns, tucked away in a little alley off the side of a main street. The regulars have disappeared one by one over the years, but the cafe still manages to scrape by. It's mostly filled with tourists nowadays, seeking its supposed rustic charm, or students from a nearby highschool buying pastries for break time. Definitely not a place fit for an upperclass young lady.  
  
She always orders the exact same things, each time - a glass of freshly-brewed lemon tea, and a slice of chiffon cake. Nothing else. The flavours rotate according to the day of the week, but she doesn't seem to mind. After the first week she stops naming the cake when she orders it, resorting to something encompassing.  
  
"I'll have the usual, please."  
  
And then she retreats to a corner of the cafe, setting her sling bag down and retrieving a book to read. Once the food is served, she spends the better part of an hour there, sipping the tea as she peruses literary works from across centuries. However, she never touches the cake, only eating the berry at the very top.   
  
When the clock hits five, she gets up, pays the bill and leaves. Every day, without fail.  
  
At first, he doesn't really pay attention to her. Not all customers finish their food, after all. But as she keeps coming and the pattern repeats itself, his interest is piqued. Not only because she seems to be on the road to becoming a regular, but also because... well. It  _is_  a little disappointing to have to clear away a half-filled plate, especially since he's the one who had made it. Is there something wrong with his handiwork? Or is it something else altogether?  
  
He mentions this to his older brother, who somehow finds it immensely amusing. They both watch her for another week, as well as the other customers who bought the cake. No problems with the food are found - a few people even came back for seconds.   
  
Three days later his brother volunteers to serve her food in his place. He tries to talk to her, but from their body language he can tell that she isn't really interested. No leads there, then.  
  
On one dappled sunny afternoon he finally picks up the courage to talk to her. His brother takes her order, and he brings out the items as usual. Though he doesn't quite know what to say, and just asks if she is well. She replies that she is, and he notices the way her eyes smiled - her irises are a clear blue, matching the colour of her clothes and the flower clip in her hair.  
  
The silence between them stretches a little too long to escape notice, and he quickly excuses himself, wondering if she's realized that he had been unconsciously staring.  
  
Later, when she leaves, there is a line penned in elegant script on the bill.  
  
 _Thank you for your service._  
  
(His brother wouldn't stop teasing him about it.)  
  
A week later he finds her reading a history book. She catches sight of his name tag and asks him if he is schooling. He replies that he is, and says he is going to university next year. She says she is doing the same, so he asks where she intends to go, but she responds with only a faint smile.   
  
Later, when she leaves, there is another line penned in elegant script on the bill.  
  
 _My father used to teach you._  
  
(He searches his mind for the various mentors he's had over his life, for anyone who might meet the description. He knows a few, but it isn't enough to narrow down the pool just yet.)  
  
Summer came and went, and the trees outside lining the street begin to turn red. The routine's still the same. She comes in, orders her things, and he delivers them. They exchange a few lines before he is called back to his duties, and she spends an hour reading. Then, she leaves, the cake still untouched. Every day he hopes for the contrary, but it never comes. Over the weeks he puts in more effort into baking, sourcing for different ingredients and recipes in a bid to make the end product better. Yet, despite his best efforts, she always leaves her cake untouched. It's starting to bother him. She doesn't seem to dislike him, so... why wouldn't she eat it?  
  
The question sometimes keeps him awake at night, long after his brother has forced him to stop studying and go to bed. And he sometimes sees her in his dreams by the sea, smiling with the ocean breeze combing her long, black hair - but she never speaks to him, and he always wakes up before he can ask.  
  
September rolls by, and for the first time she misses a day. He spends the whole day watching the glass door, listening intently for the sound of her voice, but it never comes. The next day she does, and he notices the slight pallor of her skin. He asks why she didn't come the day before, and she says that she had been ill.   
  
Perhaps he had taken too little tea that morning, but somehow he musters up the courage to mention what he had wanted to find out. And she just smiles, the same smile she had always given him, gentle and warm.  
  
"I'm allergic to wheat."  
  
Seeing his surprise, she inclines her head and continues speaking.  
  
"I... come here just to see you, actually."  
  
Another pause. She looks down and folds her hands on her lap.  
  
"I know you make the chiffon cake, so I buy one every time. But I can't eat it, so I just take the berry instead."  
  
He merely stands there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what she had just said. She chuckles slightly and tells him to go back to work; which he does  while being all too aware of the faint blush now spreading across his face. His brother (who had been watching) slaps him on the back with a laugh and shuts him in the back room until he's gotten more presentable.  
  
For the first time she stays past five and waits for him to come back out again, and she gives him the bill before leaving. This time, there are no words, only numbers.  
  
The next day she comes in, orders her things, and he delivers them. They exchange a few lines before he is called back to his duties, and she spends an hour reading. But this time, her plate is cleared and empty, and a note left beside it.  
  
 _Thank you for the cake. Cornflour does have a lighter tone to it. Maybe you should try adjusting the eggs._  
  
He looks up and sees her across the street, watching. Her smile is gentle and warm, and after a few seconds he can hear his phone going off somewhere in the back room. She turns and makes for the main road, and he watches her silhouette until it vanishes in the evening sunlight.

> I'll see you at orientation tomorrow. Have a good evening.


End file.
